Wednesday, December 7, 2011

crackling magic memories

I have such fond memories, as a child, of decorating our house for Christmas.  It always felt like a big event to me.  Something I enjoyed very much.  I'm really big into making things feel important.  Maybe it's because I've always experienced things with my whole heart open.  Allowing in all the joy, details, and warmth that life can bring your way.  And so, I feel it's my mission to help others experience life in the same way.

Some of you may not know that my parents divorced when I was 5 years old.  My mother had full custody.  Meaning, I lived with her a majority of the time.  This created a bond between her and I.  The time between her first marriage and her second was saturated with attention.  I would say that was the time in my life was when I felt the closest to her.  Maybe it was because we had only each other.  A love grown out of dependency.  Out of necessity.  Out of fear, as we clung to each other in a desperate need of some sort of materialized stability and love.  Whatever it was...it was tender.  And it was real.

Days after Thanksgiving, I always knew it was coming.  When we would shop for a real-live Christmas tree.  One that dropped, more than a few, pine-needles by the hour and smelled of evergreen-heaven.

Then my mom would pull out her Christmas records from the entertainment center cupboard. You know, the ones that are 10x the size of a CD and play a sound that touches your soul deeper than any YouTube video could create?  {When I saw the episode about Frank being irate at Raymond for converting his beloved records to CDs, on Everybody Loves Raymond, I'm pretty sure I was just as upset.  How could Ray not know that CDs do not sound better than records??  No matter how hard Ray pleaded to his father that they did??}

She'd lay them on the record-player.  Turn it on.  Place the arm on the outer-edge.  Turn the sound up.  And then...you'd wait for it...the soft crackling.  The quiet-popping.  Your ears could practically taste the music.

My mom and I would pull out all the ornaments and lights, adorn the tree with its yearly jewels, and listen to Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby as they sang our life's soundtrack.  We'd spend hours until the tree was perfectly decorated.  Changing record after record to be sure each moment never lacked the sound of crackling-Christmas magic.  

Nothing gives me a warmer and fuzzier feeling. 
Nothing makes me want to rewind my life more than those days.

To continue with my mission, I long to create those feelings for my own children.  I want them to feel that magic.  That awe.  That joy.  Unfortunately, there's no more family records to accompany the harmony of their memories...but I hope against hope, that I make their lives feel special.   Just like those records.  Just like my mom. 

Especially at Christmas-time.










3 comments:

  1. What a beautiful memory in words and pictures!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I love the pictures. So lovely:-)

    ReplyDelete

Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's year - it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul. -Unknown